


Fuck It

by tazia101



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Human AU, M/M, anxiety has anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:28:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22087165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tazia101/pseuds/tazia101
Summary: Logan decided that one of their science teachers needs a lesson on his own subject. Virgil is brought along because he knows how to pick a lock. Everything goes predictably downhill from there.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Comments: 3
Kudos: 159





	Fuck It

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on @knight-in-the-stars, my inactive tumblr blog, in 2018. 
> 
> Based on [@asofterfan](https://asofterfan.tumblr.com)'s punk au with pure affection.

“How the fuck did I get talked into this?” Virgil grumbled, one boot on the counter as he climbed on top of a filing cabinet in the corner of the classroom. 

“More easily than I expected,” Logan replied from under the desk. 

Virgil rolled his eyes even though Logan couldn’t see him, and shifted his weight onto the cabinet. Once he was safely balanced, he curled his legs under him to watch Logan work. From here he could keep an eye on Logan and a good portion of the hallway, dark and empty through the open door. 

They hadn’t turned the lights on, and Virgil’s position in the corner meant that he wouldn’t be immediately visible if anyone walked in, but Logan’s legs sticking out from the desk would be obvious. 

The plan depended on finishing before the janitor made a round of the third floor, and Virgil suspected Logan was a lot less worried than he was. Logan knew that he would be caught eventually, and was just hoping that it would be tomorrow, in the chaos afterwards, rather than before he could set his plan into motion. Once it was done, there would be no doubt who was responsible, but Logan had never been one to care about that. 

If everything went well, when Mr. Fredricks walked into his science classroom tomorrow, he would have no idea what was about to be unleashed. 

First, when he went to write his lesson plan on the chalkboard, as he did every morning, it would fall onto his foot: painful, but not suspicious. A plausible accident, and Logan’s personal indulgence. Virgil had pointed out that it was an unnecessary part of the plan, but Logan had insisted that it was justified. Logan was not one to be talked out of grudges, and so Virgil had handed him the screwdriver and held the board as Logan had carefully found the right balance in the screws, ready to fall under the lightest touch, but able to stay where it was until the morning. 

Next, Fredricks would sit at his desk and the chair would overbalance backwards, the flimsy cardboard Logan had added to the back legs giving out under his weight.

The desk was rigged in the same way as the chalkboard, and as he grabbed at it to try to stay upright, it would fall on top of him. 

Logan’s true pièce de résistance was the carefully hidden fabric strung between two lights, dyed to blend with the off-white ceiling and connected to one leg of the desk with fishing wire, so thin that you couldn’t see it unless you knew it was there. 

When the desk fell, the fabric would come down, sending dozens of papers fluttering down onto the class: twenty-one copies of an essay detailing the many studies contradicting Mr. Fredricks’s Monday class on ‘possible chemical defects’ leading to ‘deviations from heterosexuality’. One essay for each student, and some hand-coloured rainbow confetti mixed in: Roman and Patton’s contribution to the project.

Virgil had been pulled into the plan as the only member of the group who could pick locks, and he was heavily regretting it now. In the abstract, it was fine, even fun: helping Logan with his schemes against the teachers of the small-town southern high school was one of the highlights of Virgil’s weeks. 

The reality, however, was a lot of waiting in the dark classroom, willing Logan to work faster, with nothing to do but run over the thousand ways this could all go wrong. 

Up in his hiding place, Virgil curled his fingers into his shirt and stared down at Logan, who was loosening every screw in the table with sharp, efficient movements. 

It was a trick Virgil had watched him attempt twice before: the first, in elementary school, hadn’t worked. But the second had sent three entire rows of the local theatre tumbling backwards in a domino effect: Logan and Roman teaming up to protest a frankly ill-considered production of Othello. 

Virgil was fighting a smile at the memory when he heard it. 

Footsteps. 

Logan froze, and Virgil’s eyes flicked from him to the doorway. They had both heard. 

There was a beat of silence, and then the footsteps resumed, coming from around the corner. Far away but perfectly audible in the silence of the dark school. 

Virgil dropped from the cabinet, skipping the counter and jumping straight to the ground, falling to all fours to keep his boots from making sound on the floor. He darted across the room to push the door shut, keeping the door handle turned until it was closed, then slowly letting it rotate back into place without a sound. 

When he turned back, Logan was sliding out from under the desk, his expression annoyed, his screwdriver still in one hand. Virgil’s heart pounded as Logan came to join him by the door, hearing the footsteps come closer. Logan reached past him to lock the door: Virgil grabbed at his wrist too late, and the click of the mechanism seemed to echo in the silent room. 

Virgil backed away from the door and Logan followed, still held by the wrist. They were closed in, and there was nowhere to go. The person was coming closer, and there was no way she wouldn’t find them, she was going to be even angrier that Virgil had tried to lock her out, this whole thing had been a mistake, and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide- 

“Virgil?” 

Logan’s voice was quiet, his hand curled around the back of Virgil’s neck to pull him close, and he hadn’t even noticed, all of his attention focused on the footsteps. He flinched back, and Logan let him go. Virgil took a breath, refocused. He was backed up against the wall, with Logan close in front of him. They were in a classroom. The science classroom. 

“The janitor,” he whispered, and those words centered his fear, bringing him back to the moment but kicking his nerves up as he remembered what was happening. 

“Fuck it,” Logan shrugged, and then stepped back with a vicious smirk that said he had a plan. “Might as well have some fun if we’re going to get caught.” 

He stepped away from Virgil to tuck the screwdriver behind a row of textbooks, then hopped up onto a desk and beckoned Virgil over. Even as Virgil joined him, the footsteps paused outside the door, and the doorknob rattled. 

Doors were always supposed to be open after hours. School policy. The janitor already knew something was wrong, and the certainty of being caught was almost calming, as were Logan’s hands settling on his hips, pulling him closer. 

“Do you trust me?” Logan asked, and Virgil gave him a flat stare instead of addressing the stupid question. Logan nodded, accepting the unspoken answer. “The important thing,” he said, shifting his hands to Virgil’s waist, “is that he doesn’t think to check the desk.” 

Virgil hadn’t been sure what Logan’s plan was, but the mischievous light in Logan’s eyes, combined with the nervousness that Virgil could see at the corners of his smile, told him everything. 

Most of the school thought they were dating, and they weren’t exactly wrong, but neither were they quite right. Virgil and Logan’s relationship was always in flux, a mess of finely-drawn distinctions, badly maintained boundaries, and constant reiterations of consent. It had been a difficult few months for Virgil, and most of the physical elements of their relationship had been put on hold: Virgil couldn’t even remember the last time they had kissed. 

But as he heard the jingle of keys from the hallway, his stomach twisted in anticipation as Logan dipped his head down to brush their noses together, their breaths mingling as he whispered. “May I kiss you?” 

Virgil answered by closing the distance left between them, pulling Logan into as frantic a kiss as he could manage. Within seconds he was lost in the sensation of finding old patterns, in the familiar way their lips fit together. Logan was trying to unbutton his own shirt as they kissed, the movement jostling their mouths and making them slip apart. 

Virgil followed the thought and pulled his own jacket off before swooping back into the kiss, ignoring the half-unbuttoned shirt that Logan made one more attempt at opening, before giving up and wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck just as the door swung open. 

“What the fuck?” 

Logan lazily disengaged from Virgil and leaned back to blink at the janitor, who was standing in the doorway with his mouth open. 

“Do you mind?” Logan asked. His half-opened shirt slid down one shoulder, revealing more of his tattoos. Virgil grinned, enjoying the janitor’s shocked silence even as his hand squeezed Logan’s in a silent demand for reassurance. Logan rubbed the back of Virgil’s head, running his thumb over the rough stubble of the shaved edges. “We’re a bit busy.” 

“How did you get in here?” the janitor asked, still frozen in the doorway. 

“We’ve been here this whole time,” Logan shrugged, and started to do his shirt up. Virgil took this as his cue to shrug back into his jacket, watching Logan for signs as to what they were doing next. “Chemistry homework. Very important. I suppose we lost track of time.” He finished the buttons and slid off the desk, squeezing Virgil’s wrist lightly before he made for the door. “And then, well, we got distracted. Teenage hormones and all that, you know. We were studying some of the neurotransmitters, actually. Serotonin, dopamine, acetylcholine-” When Logan waved a hand, the janitor stepped aside, clearly at a loss for words. 

“I didn’t realize how late it was.” Logan didn’t even attempt honesty, continuing the conversation in a neutral tone. “I suppose we really should be getting home. Virgil?” 

Virgil followed him out the door, keeping an eye on the older man as they passed by. 

They made it to the end of the hall before the janitor called after them, “hey! Wait a minute!” 

That was when they broke into a run, boots heavy on the stairs, hands finding each other and gripping tight, laughing in fear, laughing in exhilaration, laughing because they were already two floors down and making a break for freedom, freedom, freedom. 


End file.
